


Year 2008

by Luna_Hart



Series: Snapshots [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Guilty Brock, Hungover, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, New Years, Sappy, Survivors Guilt, Sweet, good guy Brock Rumlow, good guy Jack Rollins, injured jack, original character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-15 18:26:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Hart/pseuds/Luna_Hart
Summary: A collection of moments in the lives of Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollings:New Years morning, how Jack got his scar, and Brock's survivors guilt.





	1. January

Jack woke up and immediately wish he hadn’t. Everything was too bright regardless that the sun was just now rising. His mouth felt disgusting, and his head was killing him. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly sat up, swallowing thickly as his stomach lurched. 

He glanced at the clock; 07:24. Jack groaned, hating his internal body clock that would never let him properly sleep in. He glanced across to the other side of the bed, which was empty. Brock never slept well when he was drunk, but somehow he still managed to bounce back like a fucking teenager, regardless that he was five years Jack’s senior. 

Jack tugged on a pair of sweatpants and a hoody before stumbling into the on suite bathroom to answer the call of nature.  
He stumbled out of the bedroom, regretting everything but mostly this hangover that he was currently nursing. STRIKE had partied long and hard, bar hopping across what felt like the entire freaking city. 

It had all started with Brock producing a bottle of expensive tequila as STRIKE mustered out at the end of the day. Jack remembered only flashes after that; Murphy riding an electronic bull in some dingy country bar. Hunter beating Brock and Richfield at darts while Blake and Jack hustled a bunch of college frat boys at pool. Brock yanking him into the shadows at midnight to share a quick, sloppy kiss.

Jack made his way to the fridge, taking a big swig of orange juice straight from the carton. He prepped and turned on the coffee maker. As he turned, rubbing grit from his eyes, he caught a glimpse of a figure out on the patio.

Jack made his way across the living room, absentmindedly grabbing up a camera that sat on the coffee table. 

He stepped out into the cold morning air. Brock stood leaning against the railing, his dark aviators pushed high on the bridge of his nose. Maybe he wasn't as impervious to hangovers as Jack thought. He had on soft black sweatpants and a big blue sweater Jack recognized as one of his. A cigarette dangled from his lips. Jack smirked. Brock only smoked when he was very hungover. 

They said nothing, just watched the sun climb slowly higher. The wind was biting cold and turned ears and noses red. As the sun peaked behind the neighbouring building, sending rays of light streaming weakly to their little patio, Jack raised his camera. 

Brock rolled his eyes but did nothing more to discourage the younger man. He took a long drag, slowly exhaling through his nose. The smoke curled up and slowly dissipated in the air. Jack’s camera whirred as the shutter clicked.  
Brock finished the last of his cigarette, stubbing it out on the railing and tossing it in the tin can by his feet. 

“Fucking freezing,” He griped. As he turned to go back inside Jack reached out an arm and blocked his way. As Brock looked up with raised eyebrows. Jack leaned in and gently pressed his lips against the shorter mans. 

“Happy New Year,” Jack whispered.  
“Sappy bastard,” Brock grumbled, but he didn't complain as Jack leaned in for another kiss.


	2. April from Jack's POV

The woods were quiet, too quiet for Jack’s liking. No animals, no wind, nothing but the soft crunch of pine needles underneath his combat boots. Jack adjusted the grip on his rifle as he and the rest of STRIKE Alpha and Echo edged their way along the side of an abandoned building in some backwoods valley in Poland.

It was a low, run down, single story building with an two story tower-like structure jutting out of one corner. Directly in front of him, Brock signalled a halt as they reached a side door.  
Jack adjusted his stance and took a deep steadying breath. He heard Brock check in with STRIKE Delta, the team that was covering their backs from atop the small ridge that overlooked the valley. Everyone was in position.

Brock glanced back down the line. Satisfied with what he saw, he grabbed a stun grenade. He tossed one last glance at Jack, who returned the look with a curt nod. Brock pulled the pin, opened the door and tossed the grenade in as he crossed to the other side of the door.

 

With a massive explosion of sound, light and smoke, Jack and the rest of STRIKE breached the building. They were confronted with a warren of rooms and hallways. Everything was in decay and smelled of mildew and rat droppings.

Brock brought up the rear. “Stay sharp and spread out.”  
STRIKE paired up and spread out, having planned everything ahead of time. They had done this so many times it was practically second nature.

Jack started down a hallway with Blake following close on his heels.  
They made their way easily towards the back of the building, listening as the other agents called in the rest of the building clear. “West corner clear. Joining up with Rollins and Blake,” Kingsley commented quietly as she and Daniels came up on them from behind. “There’s nothing here. Boss, you find anything?”

“Negative,” Brock’s answer crackled across the comms. “East corner clear, heading up the tower. Looks like they got tipped off we were coming and cleaned house.”  
Jack and the other three swept down the hallway. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Daniels adjust his gip on his rifle, swallowing thickly.

The kid had potential, but he was still green. With only a few years of Military service under his belt before S.H.I.E.L.D. snatched him up, Jack wasn’t sure how he had already landed on a STRIKE team. He heard rumours of S.H.I.E.L.D’s Assistant Director pulling some strings for an old friends favourite nephew, but as long as the kid didn't foul them up in the field, Jack couldn't care less.

“South wing clear,” Jack heard Waters say in his ear. “Nothing here but rat shit. Doubling back”  
“Rollins, status?” Brock’s voice came over the comms.

“North wing almost clear. Approaching last room now.”  
“Copy. Finish your sweep and meet up with Waters. We’re almost done clearing the tower.”  
Brock ordered as Jack and the others swept towards the last room.

Jack suddenly snapped out an arm, latching onto Daniels’ tac vest and yanking him back. “Look,” he snapped, stalling the the kids outranged protests by clicking on his rifles tactical light and shining it on the ground.

There, shimmering in the light, was a thin trip wire. It was strung across the hall at about ankle height, disappearing through two small holes in the wall on either side. Daniels blanched, turning white as a ghost.

Jack jumped on the comms, warning the others. “North corners boobytrapped. Tripwire in the hallway.” His voice came out steady besides the fact his heart was jackhammering inside his chest. That had been too close.

“Sounds like there might be something back there they don't want us to see,” came Brock’s prompt reply. “Stay sharp, STRIKE. Let’s all go home in one piece today.”  
Jack clamped a hand on the kids shoulder, offering a gruff “You good?”. Daniels nodded and stepped carefully over the wire.

They encountered no more surprised on the rest of their short journey to the last room. Carefully, they entered the room. Once inside the fanned out, sweeping it with expert precision. Jack took the left side, Kingsley on his heels, and circled over to the window. Nothing. Jack grimaced, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Something wasn’t right here.  
“Tower’s clear,” Brock sounded over the comms. “Heading back to the breach point. Rollins, status.”

Jack turned, about to respond, and saw Daniels and Blake approaching the closet door.  
Just as Daniels and Blake approached a closed closet door. Daniels reached a hand out for the handle.  
“Wait —“ Jack began, taking a step forward, but he was too late.

A huge explosive force slammed into him, snatching him clean off his feet. Time seemed to slow as he hung suspended in the air. He felt his body connect with something hard and keep moving. Pain flared savagely across his jaw before everything slammed to black.

 

 

Jack woke up on the grass and couldn’t remember how he’d got there. He couldn't see anything, just blurry shapes and bright spots dancing in front of his eyes. Someone was screaming. He wished they would stop, it was very annoying.

It was hard to concentrate, the ringing in his ears was painfully loud. All he could smell was smoke and burning. He tried to cough but choked on the scalding hot blood that filled his mouth.

He couldn't breath. There was so much blood. He tried to spit it out but the movement caused white hot pain to lance across the side of his jaw. The corners of his vision grew dark and he blacked out again.

 

 

When he came to again, he was on his side. There was a lot of yelling. Someone was kneeling next to him. They were yelling too.

The yelling slowly formed into individual words. They floated through his mind, words like ‘trap’, ‘explosion’, and ‘agents down’. Something about needing an ‘immediate EVAC’. He felt a heavy pressure against the side of his jaw and face. It hurt, a lot.

He tried to get his eyes to focus properly but when he did all he could see was red. An ever growing pool of red that was slowly seeping out from under him. He regarded it thoughtfully. It looked just like the time his sister spilled strawberry Kool-Aid all over the kitchen floor, only thicker. More words trickled in and out of his ears.

“Shit, is he alive?”

“Where’s Blake and Daniels?!”

“Hold still! I need to control the bleeding!”

“My legs! I can’t feel my fucking legs!!”

“Where the FUCK is my EVAC? Dammit, I need it here NOW!!”

That last voice cut through all the others. It roared right next to Jack’s ear. He flinched. It was too loud; it hurt his ears. Everything hurt. He tried to move away but a hand held him firm.

“Easy Jack, easy,” the voice crooned in his ear. “I gotcha, I gotcha. You’re gonna be okay, EVAC’s on its way. You’re gonna be okay. Hang in there buddy, just keep breathin’. You can do that for me, right? Just keep breathin’.”

Jack tried to speak, to say that he would try but that it was getting hard to breath. The movement of his jaw sent another stab of pain through his face. He had just enough time to remember that moving his jaw was a really bad idea before he blacked out for the third time.

 

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Jack really wished Brock would shut off the alarm already. He just wanted to sleep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Jack groaned. Well, if Brock wasn’t going to do it, so be it. He would do it himself, and maybe smash Brock’s phone in the process.

He tried to roll over but found that he couldn't seem move. Why couldn't he move? Something was tickling inside his nose. He reached up a hand to brush it away but something stopped him. No, someone stopped him. A hand closed around his, pulling his hand away from his face with gentle reassurances. Someone was talking, or so he thought. He couldn’t tell. Everything was muffled and there was a loud metallic ringing in his ears.

The thing in his nose was adjusted. No, Jack didn’t want it there. There was also something stuck to his face. He started to struggle. He tried to open his eyes but they wouldn’t cooperate. They felt gluey and gritty at the same time. Another voice joined the gentle reassuring one. He heard more beeps and something cold rushed through the veins in his arm. His limbs felt heavy and Jack surrendered to their pull, drifting back into oblivion.

 

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Jack could really learn to hate that beeping noise. He slowly opened his eyes. They cooperated this time, sort of. They still felt gritty. That loud ringing in his ears hadn't gone away either. Jack looked around, getting his bearings.

Everything was so white. Hospital, his brain supplied. He turned his head to the side. There was something that wasn't white. Dressed all in black, arms crossed and chin resting on his chest, sat Brock. The man was fast asleep, gently snoring.

He tried to say something, but he couldn’t open his jaw. White hot pain seared up his jaw and he whimpered, clenching his eyes shut.

Brock came awake all at once. He sat bolt upright, eyes rolling wildly before landing on Jack.  
Jack watched as Brock’s mouth moved but the sound was muffled by the ringing noise. He could barely hear him. He tried to speak again and regretted it immediately. Brock made shushing motions with his hands.

Jack watched as Brock scrambled around for something. A moment later a note pad was held up in front of his face.

  
**_Broken jaw. Don’t try to talk._**

Jack raised a hand and gestured to his ears. Brock seemed to get the idea. He flipped the page over and scribbled something else down.

**_Ruptured eardrums. Will get better._ **

Jack nodded and closed his eyes in pain. His head hurt. Actually scratch that, everything hurt.  
He opened his eyes as a nurse came in to the room. She spoke briefly with Brock before bending down towards Jack. She shone a bright light in his eyes and checked on the machines hooked up to him. She gave him a smile before injecting something into his I.V.

 

It was another day before Jack’s eardrums had healed enough to be able to hear again. The second he could, he snatched up the notepad from Brock’s hands and scribbled down the first question that came to mind.

  
**_Where are we?_**

“Germany,” Brock replied. “We were air lifted to the S.H.I.E.L.D. controlled hospital in Frankfurt.”  
Jack raised his eyebrows and pointed to himself. Brock grimaced, but didn't hesitate as he explained Jack’s injuries.

“Broken and lacerated jaw, your right lung collapse en route to the hospital due to pulmonary contusions,” Jack scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.  
“Blast lung,” Brock clarified. “Bruised kidney. They had to remove your spleen. It ruptured when you were in the ICU, which is a damn good bit of luck. If it had happened when we were still in the air —,”  
Brock paused, swallowing thickly and taking a deep breath before continuing  
“Multiple fractured ribs, sever concussion, perforated eardrums, two major and a handful of minor lacerations from going through the glass. Minimum six weeks recovery, barring any complications.”

  
**_What happened?_**

“Boobytrap,” Brock replied grimly. “The bastards must have known we were coming. They rigged explosives inside the closet. When it went off it triggered a chain reaction, took out the whole building.” Jack’s blood ran cold. He pointed at Brock. The man looked fine, but Brock was good at hiding the severities of his injuries, always insisting others get taken care of first.  
“I’m fine,” the shorter man said, brushing off Jack’s concern. Jack glared until Brock raised a hand in surrender.

“A couple of broken ribs and a broken wrist from when I had to jump two stories out of that damn tower, you happy now?” Brock held up his left hand with a rueful smirk. Jack could see the split keeping it immobile. Jack looked down at the paper. He swallowed thickly before showing Brock what he wrote.

  
**_STRIKE?_**

Jack’s heart dropped as Brock’s smirk disappeared and he looked away.  
“Evans suffered a broken ankle when we jumped out of the tower,” Brock stated in a neutral, flat-sounding voice.

“He’s already stateside, along with Waters and Hunter. Both of them managed to get out of the building before it collapsed. They suffered scrapes and bruises at worst.”  
He paused. Jack waited, his chest tight.  
“Kingsley has lost sight in her right eye and three fingers. If she survives her internal injuries, she’ll never walk again. Blake and Daniels didn’t make it.”

Jack felt as if all the air had been punched out of his lungs. Part of him had known what Brock’s was going to say. He knew how fucked his current state was, and he had been the furthest from the blast of the four. Still, it didn't make it any easier to hear.

It was a hard blow. Blake had joined STRIKE the year after Jack. He was a notorious flirt, cheated at poker and pool, and was one of the most deadly close-combat fighters Jack had known.  
He had never worked with Kingsley in the field before, but Jack regularly found her at the gun range. The two would often engage in a little friendly competition, seeing who could outshoot the other.  
Daniels was too young to have paid the ultimate price for a rookie mistake. Later, Jack would be angry about how such a green recruit had ended up on a STRIKE mission, but not now. It still hurt too much now.

None of them had been HYDRA. Jack didn’t give a shit.

Jack reached out to Brock, just barely able to brush his fingertips against his hand. Brock pulled away from the touch, leaning back in his chair. For the second time that day, Jack felt like he had been punched in the gut. He really didn’t care about Brock’s hangups around public displays of affection right now. He was always concern of being found out, of being outed, but right now, Jack couldn’t care less.  
They were both hurting and in need of some comfort.

He hummed, the only vocalization he could manage. When Brock ignored him, Jack slammed his fist into the little rolling tray table beside him. It didn't make much of an impact and it scared him how weak he was but Brock flinched harshly all the same.  
As a nurse came to see what all the racket Brock fled, brushing past the nurse without a backwards glance.

Tears pricked at the corner of Jack’s eyes. He tried and failed to blink them away. The nurse gave him a small smile as she reached over to fiddle with some of the machines. Jack closed his eyes, feeling a tear slide from under his lids and trace a scalding path down into the bandages on his face. After a moment, the morphine had kicked in and he slipped into a restless sleep.

 

When he woke up again, Brock was there. Brock was always there, for all he refused to touch Jack while someone could see them. He would leave occasionally to check on Kingsley but then would come right back. He slept in the chair until one of the nurses brought in a cot for him. He had to be bullied into eating, either from the nurses scolding him or Jack sending death glares until Brock finally conceded.

Before long they were airlifted back to the states, to the S.H.I.E.L.D. run hospital in Washington DC. On the trip was the first Jack had gotten a look at Kingsley since the explosion. She was drugged up to her eyeballs, face and hands swathed in bandages, but somehow she still managed to give him a weak smile as they were carried up into the aircraft.

Eight hours later and they were touching down in Washington. Brock left them at the airport, having to go to headquarters and report. Jack closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

 

 

Time passed in a blur of doctors, tests, and medication. Brock visited but kept his distance like always. Jack tried hard not to care.  
Finally came the day when the doctors took out the wires that had kept his jaw shut and told him he could go home. Dr. Finch walked him through a bunch of movements, poking and prodding until he was satisfied that his jaw was stable enough on its own. He then checked and changed the dressings on Jack’s face.

With a list of jaw exercises in his pocket and an order to only eat soft foods for at least the next two weeks, he stopped to visit Kingsley before he left.  
“It’s not all terrible,” she said, sounding only a little bitter. “I’m alive. That’s what matters, or so I keep telling myself.”

Jack looked down, unable to meet her eyes. “Trish,” he began, voice slurring a bit, the muscled stiff and out of practice. “I am so —,” a hand on his stopped his apology before it even began.  
“Don’t you dare!” He looked up, startled.  
“Don’t you dare apologize. This wasn’t your fault anymore than it was mine and I don’t blame you. I don’t even blame Daniels, not anymore anyways. Life dealt me a shitty card but at least I’m around to make the best of it.”

Jack nodded, not quite trusting his voice. He cleared his throat, “So, what now?”  
“I’ll figure it out. I always do,” she gave him a small smile before flapping her un-bandaged hand at him. “Now shoo, get your ass home and let me get some rest.”  
Jack conceded, seeing her eyes start to droop. He squeezed her hand once before turning to leave.

“And Jack?” Jack turned back, seeing a troubled look on Kingsley’s face.  
“Take care of the Commander. I know he's gonna blame himself for what happened, but it’s not his fault either. Make sure he knows that, yeah? Tell him I said so, when he’s ready to hear it.”  
Jack promised he would and took his leave.

 

 

“Can you call me a cab?” Jack asked quietly, hating how rough his voice sounded. The nurse at the front desk looked up and pointed. “You’re ride is already here.”  
Jack’s gaze followed her pointing finger across the little waiting room. Sitting at the far end in a hard plastic chair, legs outstretched in front of him, was Brock.

“He’s been here all morning, waiting for you to be released,” the nurse threw him a knowing smile before the ringing phone called her attention away.

As Jack neared him, Brock jumped to his feet saying, “Ready to get outta here? I know I am, and I just got here,” as he lead the way to the door, obviously expecting Jack to just follow.

 

The drive home was silent. Well, silent on Jack’s part. Brock wouldn’t shut up. It was the most he had spoken to Jack since they left Germany. He drove one handed, his left wrist still in a brace.

He nattered on about this and that; the dumb thing that Murphy did, how annoying the new security team at headquarters was, what their voyeuristic neighbours had done now.  
“I’m still nailed to desk duty,” Brock complained. “And you’ve got another two weeks of sick leave before the Director even wants to see your ugly mug in the building.”

Jack went still. He had never been particularly vain, but he had liked his looks well enough. Now his mug was a lot more ugly, what with half of it practically being sliced in half. Brock noticed right away and cursed softly.

“Shit man, you know I didn’t mean it like that,”  
“It’s fine,” Jack said softly, turning his head to look out the Jeep’s window. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brock white-knuckle the steering wheel. The rest of the journey was taken in complete silence.

 

 

Once they got home Brock handed him a bag with his meds and extra bandages. Jack took it without a word, and beelined it to the bathroom. “You need a hand?” He heard Brock call after him. He offered no reply, other than closing the bathroom door behind him.

Once inside he tossed down the bag on the counter and took a deep breath. He turned the shower on and stripped down. He let the hot water beat down on his shoulders. Once he thought he heard the bathroom door open and close but he wasn’t sure. He stood there until the water started getting cold and then shut it off.

As he pulled back the curtain he saw a small pile of clothes sitting beside the sink. So the door had opened.  
He dried himself carefully before tugging on the baggy sweatpants.  
He swiped the fog off the mirror, taking himself in for the first time since the accident. The bruising on his torso had since faded to a muddy yellow-green. The incision from where they removed his spleen was healing nicely. He had been told he would barely have a scar.

He slowly brought his eyes up to look at his face in the mirror. Three large white bandages dotted the right side of his face. He peeled the top two away, revealing deep lacerations across his forehead and temple. They were neatly stitched, only a little red around the edges. He took a deep breath before peeling the third and final bandage away.

The lower right half of his jaw was a blooming flower of green, and yellow bruising. A deep crevice sliced his face from the corner of his mouth out and down under his jaw. The swelling was minimal but it did little to reassure him.

He clenched his jaw, even as a sharp ache rippled along the healing bone from the pressure. It looked hideous. There would be a massive scar left behind when it did finally heal. No wonder Brock couldn’t stand to touch him.

A soft knock at the door startled him out of his self-pity.  
“You alive in there?” Brock called through the door. When Jack didn’t reply, the door slowly opened.

Jack turned to the side, putting his back between him and the door. He didn't want Brock to see hm like this.  
“ ‘m fine,” he muttered, snatching the bag of meds and bandages off the counter. He fumbled and ended up dumping the whole thing on the tile floor.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, starting to bending down but Brock beat him to it. The shorter man stacked everything neatly on the counter before pulling out the adhesive bandages. Jack turned again, keeping his face away.

He felt warm fingers slip gently under his chin. Jack resisted for a moment before the fight drained out of him and he let Brock turn his face. Brock winced, his breath hissing out of his teeth.  
“Ouch! That’s no mosquito bite.”  
Jack said nothing, just standing there awkwardly as Brock pealed the edges off an adhesive pad, a little clumsy because of his splint, and placed it gently over Jack’s wounds.

To Jack’s shame, he felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes.  
“Hey, hey, hey,” Brock murmured. He finished taping down the last bandage, and began cleaning up the scraps. “You’re good, it’s all good.”

“It’s not all good, look at me,” Jack snapped. He felt Brock go still and take a breath. Whatever Jack expected Brock to say, it wasn’t what came out of the other man’s mouth.

“Yeah, you are one ugly fucker.”

Jack looked up, startled.  
“But you’re my ugly fucker,” Brock continued with a small crooked smile. “So the packaging got a little dented, you think I give a shit? Come on, enough of the pity party. I’ll heat you up some soup.”

He hesitated a moment before leaning in close and pressing a gentle kiss to the uninjured corner of Jack’s mouth. Before Jack could do anything more than blink, Brock was gone.

 

That night, as Jack lay in bed trying and failing to fall asleep, Brock surprised him with another uncharacteristic show of affection.  
Usually, Jack was the one to initiate anything more intimate than a casual quickie and Brock was always the first to roll away from a gentle touch.

Tonight, however, Jack felt the bed dip as Brock scooted up close behind him. He felt an arm slip gently under his head and the other curl around his waist, hand pressed flat over his heart. A soft kiss was pressed against the back of his neck.  
Jack felt his throat grow tight and he reached up, tangling his fingers around the hand that rested on his chest. Another kiss was pressed against his bare shoulder.

That’s how Jack remembered falling asleep, with a warm breath on his neck and a thumb rubbing gentle circles across his knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, that was a hard one to write. My heart hurts. The next chapter will be the same events as in this one, but from Brock's POV before the final chapter deals with Brock's survivor guilt.  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. April from Brock's POV

“Tower’s clear,” Brock said over the comms. “Heading back to the breach point. Rollins, status.” When he heard no reply, Brock frowned. “Rollins?”  
“Wait —“ he heard Jack say sharply over the comms before a deafening roar exploded from downstairs. He barely had time to react before a fireball roared up the stairs. 

“Move! Move! Move!” He shouted, pushing Evans ahead of him and they both sprinted towards the windows. With a painful smash they jumped, landing hard on the unforgiving ground below. Brock tumbled awkwardly, felt something crack, and swore as pain radiated up his wrist.  
He looked back at the building and swore again. The whole fucking thing was coming down! He grabbed Evans by the vest, hauling him up and away from the crumbling building. “Lets go! Move your ass!” They scrambled away, only stopping once Brock was sure they were a safe enough distance away. 

“Son of a bitch! You good?” He shouted at Evans. Evans grimaced, refusing to put weight on his right foot. “Fucking ankles broken. You?”  
“Wrists' fucked,” Brock took a deep breath and regretted it as a sharp pain stabbed at his side. “Probably a couple ribs too. STRIKE, report!”  
“Waters here with Hunter,” came a weak reply. “We got out. Circling around to the West end of the building.”  
“Rollins, status?” Brock felt an icy fear wash over him as he heard no reply. “Rollins! Blake, Report! Kingsley, Daniels, you copy?”  
Brock started limping around the North end of the building, to where Rollins had last confirmed their position. Evans followed slowly, using his rifle as a makeshift crutch. 

“Oh, fuck! Boss, we got Rollins and Kingsley! North West corner,” Hunter snapped over the comms. “Shit, shit, shit! Kingsley, you hear me? Easy, easy, I got you! Waters, check Rollins! Is he breathing?”  
Brock felt his heart drop and he took off sprinting, leaving Evans to catch up. 

“It was a trap,” he relayed to STRIKE TEAM BRAVO who was yelling through the comms, demanding their status because they had just watched the building their teammates were in explode.  
“Explosions took out the entire fucking building, we have —“  
He rounded the North West corner and pulled up short as a blood-curdling shriek reached his ears. 

This side of the building was completely gone, nothing left but a heap of smoking rubble. Glass and debris was everywhere. Hunter was a little ways off, bending over Kingsley who was the source of the screaming. The young woman’s legs were bent in ways that shouldn’t be possible.  
Brock swallowed thickly.  
Closer to him, Waters bent over Jack, sliding fingers under his bloody chin to check for a pulse.  
He heard his voice say “We have agents down and need immediate EVAC. I repeat agents down!”

He felt his legs carry him across the grass, and he fell down heavily to his knees across from Waters. He stiffly looked down at his second-in-command. Half of the mans face was covered in scarlet blood so thick it almost looked black in parts. It poured from a massive laceration along his jaw and two smaller ones on his temple and forehead. He was so still. 

Years of training and experience took over. A small part of Brock retreated deep inside his head, screaming, while the soldier part sprung into action.  
“Go help Hunter with Kingsley, I’ve got him.”  
He reached into his tac vest and pulled out a massive gauze pad as Waters moved away. He pressed the gauze firmly to Jack’s bloody face. He did a quick once over, but couldn’t find any other source of bleeding, external at least. Brock didn’t even want to think about what kind of internal injuries the man probably had. 

‘Shit, is he alive?” Evans said as he rounded the corner behind Brock. “Where’s Blake and Daniels?”  
Brock didn’t reply. There were only two bodies on the grass and he had seen the dust-covered hand sticking out of the rubble when he arrived. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.  
“Hold still!” Hunter shouted, trying to put pressure on Kingsley’s blood-covered hand. “I need to control the bleeding!”  
“My legs!” Kingsley shrieked. The part of Brock currently hiding in the back of his mind moaned in agony. No, please no.  
“I can’t feel my fucking legs!!” Kingsley sobbed as she struggled against Waters while Hunter wrapped more gauze around her hand.  
“Where the FUCK is my EVAC?!” Brock roared. “Dammit, I need it here NOW!!” 

He heard a low groan, felt Jack move under his hands and relief washed over him.  
“Easy Jack, easy,” he crooned, holding the other man still. “I gotcha, I gotcha. You’re gonna be okay, EVAC’s on its way. You’re gonna be okay. Hang in there buddy, just keep breathin’. You can do that for me, right? Just keep breathin’.”  
His heart skipped a beat as Jack’s eyes fluttered closed and he went still again. He checked for a pulse and let out a breath as he felt it thrum weakly under his fingers. 

 

Within minutes team BRAVO had arrived from atop the ridge and their EVAC arrived shortly after them. Brock would have stayed behind to help with the body retrieval but Zhang, the leader of BRAVO, and the S.H.I.E.L.D. medics overruled him.  
Soon Brock found himself strapped into the back of a helicopter on his way to Germany. He tried to wave off the petite brunette medic who came to check him over. She wasn’t having it, but it still took a solid prod to his sore ribs before he finally conceded and let her splint his wrist and take his vitals.

The whole time he kept his eyes locked on Jack. Kingsley had been loaded into the other helicopter with Hunter and Evans. Waters sat next to him, silently looking out the side door. 

After a few hours, Jack stopped breathing. 

Brock felt himself stop breathing as the medics all converged on Jack. He felt a little nauseous as he watched the petite brunette plunge a long needle into Jack’s side. Immediately Jack sucked in a raspy breath. His eyes rolled, locking with Brock’s for a moment before slipping closed again. Brock let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as the helicopter banked slightly to the left. 

 

The rest of the trip was a whirlwind, ending in a flurry of action as they landed in Germany. Jack and Kingsley were hustled away and Brock and the others were taken in the opposite direction. He got patched up, checked in with headquarters, and then began the wait.

Delta STRIKE checked in with him before long. They had recovered Daniels and Blake’s bodies from the rubble and were transporting them home. When a doctor informed him there had been some complications and Jack was headed into surgery, he excused himself to the bathroom and punched the wall until his knuckles bled. 

After his outburst, something shut off inside Brock. It’s just a coping mechanism, a small treacherous part of his mind whispered. An unhealthy one at that, like fixing a crack in a dam with duct tape. It’s only a matter of time before it blows.

Brock ignored that little voice. It was the only way he could function right now. It was how he could listen to the surgeon list off all of Jack’s injuries. It was how he could deal with finding out Kingsley would never walk again, and that was if she even survived. 

It was all his fault. He was their Commander. He was responsible for all of their safety, and he had failed each and every one of them. He could barely look at Jack, seeng him lying so still. His throat always felt tight these days and he would pass the time just counting the other man’s breaths.

His feelings for his SIC had grown strong over the last few years, so strong that they scared the shit out of Brock whenever he thought about it. He felt his chest flutter whenever Jack smiled. His stomach did summersaults when the other man touched him. Yet Brock would more than often slap his hand away, that scared of intimacy. Of being hurt.  
Brock was failing Jack, in more ways that one.

So when Jack reached a hand to him, Brock couldn’t help but flinch back, guilt weighing heavy on his chest. He had plenty of blood on his hands, he was under no illusions. They both did, but now the blood on him was that of their teammates, their fellow soldiers, their friends.  
Brock felt like he would leave behind a stain on anything he touched. He couldn’t stand the hurt look in Jack’s eyes and fled the room, brushing past the nurse on his way out. 

 

 

The weeks blurred together. He sent Evans back stateside with Waters and Hunter, and waited until Jack and Kingsley were stable enough to travel before following. The weeks that followed had Brock just going through the motions.  
He said what he was expected to say, took Assistant Director Shaw’s apologies for forcing a green recruit onto his team as graciously as he could, and picked Jack up from the hospital when he was discharged. 

He visited Jack throughout his recovery, feeling ill whenever he saw the bulky bandages on the other mans face. He hadn’t even visited Kingsley since the first few days in Germany, just getting updates on her status directly from the S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors. He couldn't face her, not after what he had allowed to happen to her.  
He kept a collected face on in front of everyone, including Jack. He pushed down his own guilt when Jack woke up in the middle of the night screaming and somehow found the right words to convince him that he was safe.  
Everything was fine. Until it wasn’t. Until the funerals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only going to get worse before it gets better! If this chapter hurt your heart, stay tuned for the final instalment for Year 2008


	4. June

It was a warm day in early June when Daniels and Blake’s funerals were held. Jack felt sweat drip down the back of his black shirt as he watched as Blake’s sister Libby placed a white rose on her brother’s casket. Both Blake and Daniels would be buried in the same graveyard, their families having been from the same neighbourhood.   
Brock stood beside Jack, aviators pushed high up on his face. His jaw was clenched and his whole body radiated tension. 

He tensed further as Libby approached the two of them, tears in her eyes. She said nothing, only gave them a sad smile before reaching out and gently embraced first Jack and then Brock. She came from a military family. She knew how it worked, how dangerous it could be. Sometimes people didn’t come home. Jack saw Brock swallowed thickly before tentatively returning the embrace. 

The service concluded and Jack gently steered Brock towards where they had parked the Jeep. As they were reaching the gate, a woman approached them. She was dressed elegantly in all black, a black veil covering her pale hair. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were wet.   
“Did you work with my Jimmy? Were you there when he….,” She stumbled to a tearful halt, her eyes darting back and forth between Brock and Jack. 

“Uh, yes ma’am,” Brock started politely. “Daniel—uh, Jimmy, was under my command and —,” he got no further as the Jimmy’s mother slapped him full across the face. His head cracked to the side, sunglasses flying off his face.  
“You!” The woman cried, fresh tears starting to stream down her face. “You killed my boy! How could you?! How dare you show up here?!”

By this point others had started to gather around as the woman continued to shriek at Brock. A harried looking man came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Please, my wife is very distraught. You must forgive her—,”“Shut up, Henry,” the woman snapped, shrugging him off. “If there’s anyone who should be apologizing, it’s him!”  
Brock looked up, cheek bright red and eyes over-bright. “I am very sor—,” He didn't get more out as the woman raise her hand again. Before she could follow through, Jack stepped forward and gently but firmly caught the woman’s wrist. 

“That man did everything within his power to save your boy. It wasn’t his fault anymore than yours,” he said in a iron-controlled voice. He let go of the woman before turning his eyes to her husband.   
“We are very sorry for your loss.” The man nodded and took his wife in his arms as she dissolved into tears. 

He turned, grabbing Brock’s arm and steering him towards the Jeep. “Keys,” he demanded as they approached the vehicle. Brock numbly dug around in his pocket before producing said keys. Jack snatched them from his hand and walked around to the driver side door. 

The drive home and the rest of the night was spent in silence. Jack kept his distance from Brock, because whenever he tried to get close the other man would shrug him away. 

 

The next morning, Brock was seemingly back to his old self. He bitched about being out of hazelnut creamer, and beat the shit out of the heavy bag in their home gym. He went through the motions with work. With both of them still tied to desk duty, it was mostly catching up on neglected paperwork and dealing with new recruits. As far as anyone was concerned, Brock was fine. 

Jack knew better. 

 

A couple of days later, Jack pulled Assistant Director Shaw aside and argued that while both he and Brock were on desk duty for another couple weeks, and since there wasn't anything to do that Hunter and Richfield couldn’t handle, they might as well cash in some of their hardly used vacation days.   
When that didn't work, he called in a personal favour with the man and twenty minutes later Jack was flipping through airlines and flight times before finding one that would work. After booking two tickets he went back to the apartment. He grabbed both his and Brock’s go bags and threw in some clothes and necessities before heading back to headquarters.   
He got back just as Brock has heading to his Jeep. 

“Get in, lets go,” Jack ordered. Brock rolled his eyes at him. “I drove myself this morning in case you didn’t notice.”  
“Leave it, it’ll be fine.”   
Brock grumbled but climbed into the passenger side of Jack’s truck anyways, glancing first to make sure no one was in the underground.  
“What crawled up your ass?”  
Jack didn’t bother responding, just pulled his truck out of the underground parkade and roared down the causeway. 

“I need to find a permanent replacement for Blake,” Brock stated, staring pointedly out the window. “I have a list of candidates as long as my fucking arm and —,”  
“Murphy.” Jack interrupted.  
“Murphy from CHARLIE team, Murphy?” Brock said incredulously, staring at Brock like he had just grown horns. “Murphy we’ve subbed in before, Murphy? Murphy can’t hold his liquor and is the most annoying little shit—,”  
“Murphy.” Jack confirmed.  
“Then who do I put on Charlie?” Brock snapped. “I can’t just juggle everyone around!”  
“Jennings.”  
“The rookie recruit? You really think now is a good time to put another greeny in the field, Jack?” Brock said stiffly. Jack stifled a wince. Brock was really not dealing with what happened in Poland.  
“She’s different. She’s ready,” Jack said with confidence, steering away from the touchy subject. He should be confident, he had helped train and asses her.   
“Huh,” Brock contemplated. “I’ll think about it,” he added staring back out the window as Jack took a right onto the bridge instead of a left.

“Hey, asshole, apartments the other way,” Brock complained.  
“Ten days vacation leave. You’re bag is in the back,” Jack stated, flashing the middle finger at a driver in a flashy Mercedes who cut him off.  
“How did we suddenly get leave?” Brock questioned, suspicious. Jack shrugged in response. “Because we deserve it.”   
Brock just stared at him before Jack relented further. “Cashed in a favour,” he muttered as he turned off at the exit towards the airport.   
“Why?” Brock asked incredulously. Jack decided not to answer him. Brock gave a huff. “Okay, fine. Where are we going then, Mr. Man-With-A-Plan?”  
“It’s a surprise,” Jack said with a smirk.   
“I hate surprises,” Brock muttered as the pulled up beside the Mercedes at the next red light. The driver turned angrily towards them but once he caught sight of Jack’s scowl he stammered something unintelligible and slammed on the gas as soon as the light turned green. Brock snickered.

 

“Santa Fe?” Brock exclaimed, not snickering anymore as Jack presented their tickets at the gate. “Why are we going to Santa Fe?”  
“It’s just a stop on the way,”   
“The way to where exactly?”   
“I told you, it’s a surprise.” Jack smirked as Brock grumbled and bitched as they found their seats. 

Seven hours later and they had land in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Jack signed the paperwork for their rental car as Brock waited impatiently outside. They made a quick stop for Jack to pick up a few groceries and grab them both something to eat. The sun was starting to set as they got back on the US-285 heading North.   
“How much farther?” Brock complained, slouching down in his seat, finishing the last of his burger.   
“Four more hours,” Jack replied, turning up the radio to drown out Brock’s outraged protests. 

Two hours later and they crossed the border out of New Mexico. “Colorado?!” Brock said in disbelief as their headlights flashed across a wooden sign that read Welcome to Colourful Colorado.  
“What the fuck are we gonna do in Colorado for ten days?!”   
Jack said nothing. He had planned to save this surprise for Brock’s birthday in August, but they both needed the break now, not in another two months. He was also enjoying Brock’s frustration, just a little bit. 

A couple more hours and they drove through the tiny town of Lake City, Colorado. Jack glanced over to Brock, who had long since dozed off. He shifted as the car hit a pothole, curling further into himself. He looked so tired.  
Eventually, Jack found the turn off he was looking for and headed off the main road onto a partially hidden dirt road. 

After leaving any hint of civilization far behind, Jack pulled the car over and shut the engine off.   
He reached over and gently carded his fingers through Brock’s hair. He came awake groggily, almost leaning into the touch before smacking Jack’s hand away.   
“Wasgoin’on?” He slurred.   
“We’re here,” Jack said shortly. “But everything’s so dark!” Brock complained but he followed Jack out of the car anyways.   
“Yeah, it does that at night.”  
Jack grabbed the bags from the back, ignoring Brock’s insults, and made his way towards a blobby shape tucked in the shadows. As he approached, Brock catching up behind him, the shape revealed itself to be a small log cabin with a wide porch jutting out from the front.   
Jack reached up and retrieved a key from inside a hanging birdhouse and unlocked the door. He flicked on the lights and the interior of the cabin glowed. 

To the right of the door sat a wood-burning fireplace with kindling stacked neatly beside it. Surrounding it were lumpy couches with a variety of patchwork blankets folded neatly over their backs.   
At the back left was a small door leading to the bathroom. Next to it, spread along the back wall, sprawled the kitchen with wooden cupboards and a gas stove. A round pine table sat in the corner with four chairs.  
Directly to the left of the entrance were more plush chairs and two tall bookshelves looming over them. There was even a record player in the corner.   
Stairs along the left wall led up to a half loft which was the bedroom. Jack went to put the groceries away while Brock wandered around, poking in the bookshelves.

“Whose place is this?” He asked, flipping up the record players’ lid and examining it.   
“Mine.”  
Jack ignored Brock as the other man stared at him in shock and continued putting away the food. “I’ll do a run into town tomorrow, get us some proper food. This should be good for breakfast at least,” he turned around to find Brock staring at him, open mouthed. “What?”  
“This is yours,” Brock waved a hand all around. “As in ‘you own it’ yours? Like ‘you bought it’ yours?”  
Jack signed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, as in I own it and about five acres of the surrounding property. Yes, like I bought it, fully furnished from a little old lady retired in Florida.”  
“How did I not know about this? When did you buy it?” Brock demanded.   
“Ten months ago. Like I said, it was a surprise.”  
“Jesus,” Brock muttered. “How do you pay the electricity bill this far out?”  
“Solar panels installed on the roof,” Jack replied. Brock just shook his head, flipping through the record collection.

“I’m exhausted, gonna go pass out,” Jack continued, grabbing his duffle and heading for the stairs. “Do whatever, just turn off the lights before you go to sleep.”  
Upstairs in the little half loft, which wasn't much beyond a massive kingsize bed and a standup closet, Jack stripped down to his underwear and crawled under the covers. He reached up, cracking the window open and pushing up the bug screen. Below him he could hear Brock puttering around, moving this and that as he explored.   
Jack closed his eyes. This was going to be anything but a restful vacation, he could already feel it. 

 

Jack woke to bird song, the early morning sun streaming through the skylight above him, and an empty bed. He could see Brock’s duffel on the floor next to his, clothing spilling out, so he had come to bed last night.   
Jack pulled on a pair of shorts and made his way downstairs. The cabin was empty. He found coffee still warm in the pot and poured himself a cup. The back door caught his eye, where it stood ajar. He made his way out onto the back deck where he found Brock. The other man was leaning against the railing, coffee mug in hand. 

“What is it with you and patios?” Jack questioned as he joined the other man. Brock just shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee.   
“That’s one hell of a view,” Brock commented, looking out across the landscape. What the darkness had hidden the night before was now revealed for all its glory. 

The back deck looked out over a small embankment that lead down to a small, crystal blue lake. Hills ranged around the little valley and behind those, mountains stood proudly against the bright morning sky. A woodshed and a well stood a little ways off to the left, a hammock hung between two sturdy trees just beyond that.   
“God damn paradise,” Brock continued, finishing off the last of his coffee. He pulled a face and Jack made the mental note to check if the grocery store had that hazelnut creamer Brock liked. 

 

The next few days passed in idleness. Jack would drive into town to pick up groceries and Brock would explore the surrounding hills. They would spend early mornings on the back deck drinking coffee and and late nights drinking beer with the record player on in the background. They would go swimming in the lake and tried to find the secret waterfall the lady at the gas station had told Jack about. Brock actually chopped wood, and shirtless which made Jack celebrate by pulling out the camera he had bought and snapping a photo. 

Even during this unusually warm spring, the nights were chilly at this elevation. Jack often curled up in front of the fire at night and watched the other man whittle away at a piece of wood. Brock said he was making a bird, but Jack would believe it when he saw it. 

The entire time Jack was on edge. Brock could pretend all he wanted that he was fine, but Jack knew him better. He knew what had happened at the funeral had gotten to him, and he knew Brock still hadn't dealt with what happened to Daniels and Blake. Jack had known the other man long enough to know when he was putting on a front. 

He finally decided to confront Brock about it after a lazy night of steak dinner and beers on the back porch.   
“So,” Jack started and then stopped, not sure where to go from there. He wasn’t good at this shit. When Brock glanced over at him, he did his best.  
“About what happened at the funeral —“  
“Ok stop right there,” Brock got up out of his chair, looming over Jack with his arms crossed over his chest. “We are not doing this.”  
“Doing what?” Jack tried but Brock wasn’t having any of it. “Doing this…this!” He waved his hand back and forth between them. When Jack didn’t say anything, Brock scoffed before turning on his heels and stalking inside. Jack sighed, getting up and following him. He wasn’t about to let Brock off the hook that easily. 

“Hey,” Jack started but Brock rounded on him, eyes glittering dangerously.   
“Is this why you dragged my ass all the way out here? For some heart to heart bullshit? So we can hold hands, sing Kumbaya, and express our feelings? It is, isn't it?” When Jack didn’t say anything, Brock scoffed, shaking his head.   
“Unbelievable. Look, I don’t need that shit. I’m fine.”  
“Bullshit.” Jack bit back. Brock started before covering it with a smirked, a crooked smile that gave the impression of indulgent annoyance. His eyes said anything but. “Come on Jacky, you know me. It’s just the job. You leave it behind when you come home.”  
“Oh right, you just don’t let it affect you, is that it?” Jack snapped back, seeing right through that mask. “You must think less of me then. All those sleepless nights I had after I was injured, all the nightmares you woke me from,” Jack watched as Brock flinched away every so slightly, the mask beginning to slip. “I must disgust you.”

“What, no, but —,” Brock stammered, caught off guard.   
“Because you’re above something so degrading right?” Jack spat the words at Brock, taking a step forward, his own pain and frustration starting to boil over. “Things like human emotion; grief, guilt, wanting comfort from someone who might actually gives two shits about you!” Jack took another step, getting up in Brock’s face.  
“No, I —,” Brock took a step back, trying to keep the space between him and Jack, but Jack matched him step for step. “Just fuck off, Jack!”  
“No, I’m not gonna just fuck off! I’m done with your shit, done with you keeping me at arms length all the fucking time!”

“Then leave!” Brock threw his arms out, still edging backwards away from Jack. “Just fuck off and go! You’ll obviously be better off!”  
“Oh, don’t try and pull that pity-party bullshit with me.”  
“What do you want me to say, that I feel guilty? That it was my fault that I almost got you killed? Got Blake and Daniels killed and Kingsley crippled?!” Brock shouted, his collected facade slipping even further.  
“Well, it’s a fucking start!” Jack roared back. Pain exploded along his still healing jaw as his head snapped to the side from the force of Brock’s punch. Jack grunted. He spat blood and looked up to meet Brock’s wild eyes. Jack saw a split second of panic in those eyes before it vanished behind anger. 

Brock sneered down at him, the mask almost back in place. “It’s all my fucking fault. There, I said it. You happy now?”  
Jack spat again, wiping his bloody chin on his wrist. He straightened and took the final few steps forward, closing the gap between him and the shorter man. Brock went to back away, but his back hit the wall and there was nowhere else to run. He clenched his fists, ready for a fight.   
“No,” Jack whispered.

“No, I’m not fucking happy.”

Brock reared back, startled at Jack’s sudden change in tone. Jack reached up a hand and gently cupped it against Brock’s cheek. Brock flinched as Jack’s touched him, but didn’t pull away. Jack caught and held his gaze. Brock’s eyes were more open and vulnerable than Jack had ever seen them before.   
Then they hardened. It was as if someone had snapped the shutters closed, and Brock slapped Jack’s hand away before pushing past him and beelined it out the door. Jack flinched as it slammed and he was left alone.   
“Fuck,” Jack hissed through his teeth. To say that had been a disaster would be a massive understatement. He collapsed into the nearest armchair, rubbing his eyes. 

 

He must have dozed off because when he next opened his eyes it was dark outside and Brock was sitting on the coffee table in front of him. His was hunched over, arms crossed around himself. As Jack turned his head, Brock glanced at him briefly before pointedly staring at the wall. His eyes looked bloodshot and tired. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said in a broken whisper so quiet Jack had to strain to hear it. “I saw you lying on the ground bloody, not moving, and I though I’d lost you. And it scare the shit outta me.” He sniffed, looking down at the floor and Jack’s heart clenched. 

“It scared the shit outta me because it would have been my fault. I shouldn’t have let Shaw push Daniels on me, he was too green. I shoulda stuck to my gut, kept him with me at least. I shoulda been more thorough with the intel, I shoulda —,”

“Hey, hey,” Jack finally found his voice, interrupting Brock’s tirade before he got himself too worked up.   
“We all went over every scrap on intel and agreed on the plan. You made all the right calls and — hey, look at me!”   
He clapped a hand on Brock’s shoulder. Reluctantly the other man slowly raised his eyes to Jacks.   
“It’s not your fault,” Jack whispered. Brock swallowed thickly. He tried to look away but Jack grabbed him under the chin and didn’t let him. This time Brock didn’t flinch. If anything he leaned into the touch. 

“I don’t blame you.”

For a moment, Jack though Brock would finally just break down then and there. His eyes were glassy and his chin wobbled ever so slightly. He swallowed thickly and took a shaky breath, getting himself back into control. Jack almost wished he wouldn’t, that the other man would just let go for once in his fucking life. But that wasn’t how Brock operated.

Brock’s eyes went to the bruise starting to bloom on the side of Jack’s chin. He grimaced and reached a tentative hand, gently stroking his fingers along the edge Jack’s jaw.   
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.  
“It’s fine,” Jack said quietly back. “You punch like a baby when you’re upset.”  
Brock gave a watery chuckle before sobering up. He looked Jack dead in the eyes, that vulnerable look back.

“I can’t lose you, Jack.”

Jack’s heart skipped a beat.  
“You won’t,” Jack promised. He pulled a small crooked smile. “Hey, you and me till the end, right?” 

“Always,” Brock promised back.

 

 

Something changed after that night. Neither of them spoke about any of it again, but Jack knew it had. Three weeks later, he woke up at home to the usual car horns and dogs barking but also something different. 

As his mind dragged himself back into consciousness, he felt a heavy weight on his chest. He opened his eyes and looked down to the top of a black haired head. Brock was curled up against his side, head pillowed on Jack’s chest, their legs tangled together.  
Jack could count the times he had woken up like this with Brock with one hand. He didn’t want to move, less he spoiled the moment.

Brock stirred and groaned, lifting his head and blinking owlishly before snuggling back against Jack’s chest. Jack didn’t even have to count the number of times a cuddly Brock had stayed cuddly after waking up. Usually he pushed Jack away with some insult about being an octopus and too clingy. 

Jack gently reached a hand down and traced lazy patterns along Brock’s bare shoulder.  
Brock stirred again with a groan.   
“You’re comfy,” he muttered, not fully awake. Jack chuckled. “Yeah? Well, you’re heavy.”  
“Suck it up, princess,” Brock said sleepily, not opening his eyes.   
Jack chuckled, and closed his eyes again. They were both going to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another year finished! On to Year 2009! stay tuned for more heartache! I really need to give these boys a break soon....but not yet


End file.
